My Life in Argentina and Beyond

The Jefferson Market Branch of the NYPL is right across the street from Cinterella, the famous deli/Italian food place. And I hesitated and hesitated before I finally decided to buy some dulce de leche ($6.99 versus $10 at Dean & Deluca on Prince Street) and a loaf of walnut/raisin bread ($6.99 versus $10 at Dean & Deluca). Once upon a time treating myself to these foods was nothing much. I just went to a place like Zabar’s on the Upper West Side and bought them. Now, I feel like they are beyond my reach and that I cannot afford them.

Saturday, September 26, 2009: It must have been my face. When I went to 154 Orchard Street yesterday to answer an ad for a free haircut, I was refused. The man said nothing in the ad about an age limit and he didn't ask to be sent a picture via email. He was a little too careful to say as little as possible, but I knew it was bad. And I badly need a haircut, too. My bangs are getting longer and longer (I must look like Ringo Starr , but unfortunately, without his money).

The woman had found the pink Victoria’s Secret robe on the street. She had taken to her boss’s house and washed it along with the other dirty laundry. Now she was sitting in front of the old TV with the robe wrapped around her. Cinderella was dancing with the Prince. The Disney movie was one of her childhood favorites and she had remembered it with fondness all these years. Sometimes dreams do come true, she thought. Sometimes girls (and women) get what they want and nothing bad happens to them afterwards. She shrugged her shoulders. At least some women get good things. When Cinderella’s stepmother broke the glass slipper, the woman cheered as Cinderella took the other slipper out of her apron pocket. She is no wishy washy heroine. The words were spoken out loud to her cat.

Sex started when the world began. Priests, we must remember, are men. Just men. Eugenia Renskoff

When I was a little girl, he used to buy me 18 Kt. pieces of jewelry. The pieces were studded with rubies. I remember a beautiful small-faced watch from the late 50s and a cross with 3 rubies. Then there was a lovely gold and ruby ring. Once I asked him why and he said that he wanted me to have the best. He had gone through hardships in Europe and now things were going well for him; he wanted to celebrate his success. My father was anti-communist, and the rubies were bright red. The color must have had another meaning for him because he once bought me a thick velvet jacket. Red again.

Another consequence of the GA foreclosure/mortgage fraud: When I was living in Atlanta (right after it dawned on me that I had been scammed) I would take just $20 out of the ATM and treat myself to some sourdough bread from Eatzy’s, the Buckhead deli. I felt a little guilty about it, but that sourdough was a reminder of my old and easier life, a life with no bad money problems.

Tomorrow, September 18th, is the 24th anniversary of my father’s death in San Francisco. He died at around 3 A.M. My brother Alex woke me up and told me: Dad loved you very much. I jumped out of bed and went to my father’s room. After making the sign of the cross, I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

The ongoing foreclosure crisis in the United States brings my own foreclosure all too vividly back to me. In 2005, I did everything I could to save my condo in Atlanta from foreclosure. There was negative equity in the place, so getting someone to buy it wasn’t an option. Nevertheless, I tried that because the condo was in a beautiful neighborhood, close to supermarkets and shopping malls. I talked to the lender, contacted HUD, got in touch with anybody who might possibly be of help. I lost my fight and my home was gone on November 1, 2005. What came after was even worse and I have been living an uncertain and hard life since then. In my own lifetime, I hope to see the real estate broker and loan officer who got me the loan punished. I have been told time and time again, that given my 754 credit score, the loan was very bad indeed. I say to anyone reading this: If you now find yourself in a similar situation, fight! Do whatever it takes to save your home. Don’t give up even if it seems hopeless.

I thought he would never die. I actually believed that he was immortal. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. There is always something to remind me of him. We had some rough times together. Sometimes it was because of his health, other times were due in great part to the neighbors we had. Most of them were unkind and/or indifferent. Other neighbors were just plain nasty. Yesterday afternoon when I was walking in Green Point, Brooklyn, I heard a dog’s bark behind me. I turned around and saw that the sound came from behind an open window. It’s an old dog’s bark, I said to myself. Rubio used to bark like that in the last months of his life. On the morning of his death, Tuesday, January 9, 2007, when the men from the municipality dog shelter came to take him, he alerted me before they had time to knock on our door. He had to be put down because he could no longer walk and he did not want to walk anymore. The sores on his body were getting bigger and bigger. Even so, he cared enough about our safety—his and mine—to tell me that strangers were on our floor.

September 4, 2009: I am sick and tired of being a bum! I am sick and beyond tired of carrying heavy duffel bags back and forth, always back and forth from one place to another and never being anyplace in particular. I have no address because I have no home. I can never expect to have a home, either emotional or physical. The unemployment rate is way up and there is very little chance of my getting anything halfway decent. In the meantime, there is a piling up of unsavory, not good things to choose from.